


an agent that reads vogue

by katyfaise



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, but everything is ot3 in my mind, not shippy at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyfaise/pseuds/katyfaise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would someone kindly explain why Agent Kuryakin currently has Agent Wilson in a chokehold?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	an agent that reads vogue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neckwear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neckwear/gifts).



> like it says in the tags this isn't shippy at all, this is just good ole fashion fun. but lets be real, it's always ot3 time in my mind sooooo  
> also all mistakes are mine - lemme know if you catch any and i'll edit <3

“Would someone kindly explain why Agent Kuryakin currently has Agent Wilson in a chokehold?”

Waverly’s voice interrupted the kerfuffle, and the bodies in the hotel room all paused their actions. Gaby, poised trying to pull Illya off of the newer, much smaller agent, dropped her hands to her sides and stood up straight, smoothing out the sundress she wore. Illya, still tense and full of rage, angrily pushed the other man aside only to mutter something in Russian that Gaby didn't quite understand but seemed to tickle Solo. 

“Allow me to elaborate,” Solo began from his spot as an onlooker by the bar, quickly pouring himself and Waverly a tumbler of scotch.

—

The three of them stared at the stranger, none particularly inviting. That is, until Solo clapped his hands together and smiled.

“Well, grand to have you on board. It’s always easier to have someone inside the cooperation.”

“And Cowboy likes easy,” Illya said from his spot on the couch. 

“In more ways than one,” Gaby piped up, which only led to Solo rolling his eyes.

Solo pulled the new agent aside, the two of them speaking over the reconnaissance mission in hushed voices. Not that it bothered Gaby or Illya, though they much preferred to stick to their own team when it came to work. The mission had just grown bigger than they’d anticipated, leading to outside help being needed. 

“Americans,” Illya muttered, eyes leaving the two men and following Gaby as she slipped outside of the hotel room to grab the mail that had been placed at the door. When she returned with their usual mail, she sat it down on the coffee table and sat down beside Illya, absently flipping through the haul. She curled up on the couch then, a respectable distance from Illya thanks to the current odd tension between them ever since Rome.

Until the man spoke, both Illya and Gaby were comfortably in their own world.

“I said, what’s that you’re reading, honey?” the agent known as Wilson asked, clearly for the second time. Gaby looked down at her copy of Car Craft and raised an eyebrow in his direction. 

“Well… It seems to be a magazine,” she elaborated, voice slow and drawn out. 

“Car Craft?” the other man said then, arms crossing along his chest. “It just seems a bit… out of your range, hm? I mean, what about the Vogue? That looks like something you’d be interested in.”

Gaby felt the weight on the couch shift ever so slightly, Illya moving beside her just barely as she folded her magazine closed and let it rest on her lap. “And why is that?”

He laughed, a sound that made her eyebrow twitch in annoyance, before he said, “Well, you’re a woman. It’s hard to believe you’d even know what a transmission or carburetor does, to be completely honest. It’s just easier to stick to the fashion magazines. Pick out a dress for your next ’mission’.” 

She couldn’t help but notice the way he used his fingers to insert a quote around the word ‘mission’, as if what she did wasn’t real work. “Unfortunately, the subscription to Vogue isn’t mine,” she informed him, drumming her fingers against the glossy cover of Car Craft. 

The man laughed, his chest puffed out in some semblance of importance. “Oh yeah? Who’s is it then?”

“Is mine.”

Illya raises from the couch then, fists clenched at his sides and seeming much taller than his already tall frame. Gaby watched the agent’s face pale suddenly, and she turned her attention to Solo standing against the bar watching the scene play out with curiosity. She raised an eyebrow, questioning on how to proceed, and he simply tipped his glass toward her and shrugged. 

Gaby needed no more.

The man mumbled an apology out, explained how he was just joking, and Gaby rolled her eyes and sighed. She stood then, arm lightly on Illya’s tense arm. 

“I have never understood you American men and your macho sense of misogyny,” she said, voice chipper and light. “It’s alright. I forgive you.” Those words triggered a breath in the man, one of relief that was let go too soon. “But he might not,” she continued, jerking a thumb toward Illya. She smiled sweetly and took a step around him, pretending not to notice as Illya stalked closer. “Oh, by the way, I could have a carburetor apart and back together far before Illya here is done with you.”

“Is true,” Illya provided, the last words any of them heard before the sound of the coffee table shattering filled the hotel room.

—

Waverly raised his eyebrow, looking over the mess in the middle of the room and the agent who looked worse for the wear. 

“As you see, Illya had a perfectly good excuse,” Solo explained, nodding curtly. 

“If he couldn’t handle Kuryakin, I’m not sure he’s the right man for the job,” Waverly said with a heavy sigh.

The agent on the floor coughed and sputtered, groaning when Illya finally let him go and shuffled away. Gaby crossed her arms then, nodding her head in Napoleon’s direction. “And Solo didn’t even once try to help out his fellow agent.”

He shrugged then, sipping his scotch. “It didn’t seem that he would need help against an agent that reads Vogue.”


End file.
